| THOUGH beauty be the mark of praise, | |
| And yours of whom I sing be such | |
| As not the world can praise too much, | |
| Yet 'tis your Virtue now I raise. | |
| |
| A virtue, like allay so gone | 5 |
| Throughout your form as, though that move | |
| And draw and conquer all men's love, | |
| This subjects you to love of one. | |
| |
| Wherein you triumph yet—because | |
| 'Tis of your flesh, and that you use | 10 |
| The noblest freedom, not to choose | |
| Against or faith or honour's laws. | |
| |
| But who should less expect from you? | |
| In whom alone Love lives again: | |
| By whom he is restored to men, | 15 |
| And kept and bred and brought up true. | |
| |
| His falling temples you have rear'd, | |
| The wither'd garlands ta'en away; | |
| His altars kept from that decay | |
| That envy wish'd, and nature fear'd: | 20 |
| |
| And on them burn so chaste a flame, | |
| With so much loyalty's expense, | |
| As Love to acquit such excellence | |
| Is gone himself into your name. | |
| |
| And you are he—the deity | 25 |
| To whom all lovers are design'd | |
| That would their better objects find; | |
| Among which faithful troop am I— | |
| |
| Who as an off'ring at your shrine | |
| Have sung this hymn, and here entreat | 30 |
| One spark of your diviner heat | |
| To light upon a love of mine. | |
| |
| Which if it kindle not, but scant | |
| Appear, and that to shortest view; | |
| Yet give me leave to adore in you | 35 |
| What I in her am grieved to want! | |
